


See you tomorrow, John Watson.

by andacupofcocoa



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I'm Sorry, Jealous Jim, Jealous Sherlock, M/M, Military Boys make fun of Smart Boyfriends, My First Work in This Fandom, Sebastian is an overachiever, Sherlock what did you do at the Tesco, Teenlock, They go to Uni together, oh god it's three am, this isn't beta'd
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-14
Updated: 2016-07-14
Packaged: 2018-07-23 23:17:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7483887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andacupofcocoa/pseuds/andacupofcocoa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sebastian Moran and John Watson really hit it off while their geniuses argue, or that one time that Sherlock and Jim agreed on something.</p>
<p>They go to school together, Sebastian is a transfer student, and John is just glad that he's not the only one who has to deal with having a genius for a boyfriend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	See you tomorrow, John Watson.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! This is my first ever work, not only in this fandom, but on AO3! Please excuse the bit of OOC-ness in the characters; I did this at 3am, and I pictured their unalterable poker faces wouldn't be fully developed yet idk.

“Bloody hell,” John sighed as he watched the back of Sherlock’s ridiculous coat straighten, his shoulders flexing outwards in a way that would have John preparing for a fight had they not been crossing the yard to head to their Chemistry Div. He couldn’t compare his level of intelligence, or rather awareness, with Sherlock’s but he knew that stance well. It was what John had begun to call ‘Jim-is-watching-me-I-know-it,’ posture, and it had become ridiculous. Jim Moriarty, a student - a year away from being a senior, like John himself - was the one man apart from Sherlock’s own brother who could level with the genius in some way, even knock the future ‘consulting detective’ down a few pegs, or throw him into a sulk until John could shake him out of it.

It had become routine more often than not. Even when Sherlock didn’t follow John to his classes because he was bored the Holmes would always somehow make time to bicker with Jim Moriarty. When he did follow John to his classes, however, their vocabulary brawl would usually happen outside the Chemistry Building. Seemed as if Jim was excited to bicker with Sherlock today, seeing as they were still a good twenty yards from the building when Sherlock had stopped.

Already mentally resigning to the fact that he would be stuck here more or less listening to the conversation, John followed Sherlock’s gaze and realized why Sherlock had stopped so suddenly. It was Jim, of course, but he was hooked on the arm of a much taller male. About the height of Sherlock, in fact, but broader in the shoulders and had a much more defined athletic physique. Which, if John was completely honest with himself, was sure to be similar to Sherlock’s but it was much harder to tell under that damned coat.

“Boys!” Jim greeted in mock cheeriness, stopping his eager pacing as he stared at Sherlock and John with a certain brightness in his eyes that had him resisting the urge to shiver. It didn’t take a genius to know that Sherlock was studying the newcomer, doing what he obviously did best. But of course Moriarty noticed, and if John wasn’t wrong, paused in his speaking to allow Sherlock to deduce. He was confident, then. A challenge. How long was Sherlock going to be put in a sulk for this, John wondered as he tucked his hands in the pockets of his jacket as an autumn breeze blew past. “I’d like you to meet my new BFF!” Jim continued as if he hadn’t paused for that heartbeat, his smile wide and plastered on his face in a way that had Sherlock’s eye twitching very minutely in annoyance at the other’s arrogance.

As if he wasn’t the bloody same, John thought, then scolded himself for it.

 

“And he is?” Sherlock questioned, his voice dull and seemingly disinterested. John watched as Jim’s smile grew.

“Why don’t you tell me?” Jim replied, his hand traveling down from where it was resting on the man’s upper arm to wrap his fingers around his wrist. John watched as the man twitched, his eyes briefly sliding down to Jim in what John registered as brief annoyance before his eyes - hazel, John noticed - returned to Sherlock. John knew immediately that Sherlock wouldn’t step down from the challenge, and true to form after a brief pause he did.

“Hunter. Nothing small, it wouldn’t suit him nor the large calibre guns he’s fond of. Tan skin, much too tan for the overcast that is often over Eton so he’s not from around here or he’s back from a vacation. I’m going to say he’s not from around here. London, yes; Eton, no. He’s ambitious, already a graduate of Oxford and yet still chose to go another round of schooling. He’s clever, not nearly as much as you or I but something about him caught your attention and made you partial to him, but your initial interest was his cleverness. Back to the tan, since Oxford isn’t sunny, which means he’s been somewhere lately with lots of sun. That, plus his fondness for large calibre weapons and I’d say he’s a Big Game hunter. Not prey, oh no that’d be boring for him, but the hunters. He likes the thrill of it, I’m sure you can relate, Jim, so big cats.”

“Big cats, Sherlock? Surely you can be more specific, you’re slipping.”

John watched as Sherlock’s eyes narrowed slightly at the insinuation that he was anything but brilliant before spitting out, “tigers. Tattoo, left arm. You’ve got a thing for it.”

“Brilliant.” The man said, causing all four men to jerk slightly and snapping the tension between the two geniuses long enough for them to all stare at the sandy blond who quickly threw on a mask of indifference, but it had already been said and John watched Sherlock’s lips tilt up briefly and Moriarty’s to twitch downwards in annoyance as he released him, finally.

“Don’t mind me asking,” John interjected, stepping forward because if Sherlock and Moriarty were going to continue their row then they may as well get the man’s bloody name before they were uninterruptible, “but we never caught your name.” He said to the sandy blond, who looked surprised that John had even spoken - bloke probably forgot I was here, John thought, but he really couldn’t blame him. Sherlock’s brilliance was enough to distract anyone, but Sherlock and Moriarty together? They ought to start a club.

“Sebastian Moran,” Moran introduced, stepping a pace forward to take John’s offered hand in his own and shake it firmly before releasing him.  
“Or you can call him Sebby~!” Jim exclaimed in enough flamboyance that had John know immediately it was for Sebastian’s own good - probably for complimenting Sherlock, he thought - watching Sebastian’s face drop into one of annoyance.

“Or Moran,” Sebastian offered, flicking Jim an irritated glare that he didn’t seem to notice.

And after that, it was as if John and Sebastian didn’t exist as Sherlock and Jim suddenly found themselves very deep in an argument over some fact that Sherlock likely posted in his blog. John rolled his eyes. It was flattering to have all of Sherlock’s attention on you at any given point in time, but having his attention on someone else - particularly Jim - was akin to having an itch you couldn’t scratch. It was bloody annoying.

“Do they always do that?” Sebastian asked, behind him, causing John to jump slightly and turn to look at the man that had seemingly materialized beside him. How had he gotten from Moriarty’s side to John’s without him noticing? Following John’s trail of thought, Sebastian offered a small apologetic smile in lieu of an explanation and John relaxed.

“Pretty much, yeah,” he replied, watching Sebastian’s expression flicker to something that John could only explain as an ‘inward groan.’ Smiling a bit in understanding, he wasn’t surprised by the next question to come.

“How do they do that, you figure?” Sebastian asked, “the whole observation thing. Jim was able to guess my bloody birthday when I walked into our shared dorm this morning. And then Sherlock, with the whole tiger thing. Didn’t think I’d be walking into that when I got off my plane this morning.” Sebastian joked, a small smile on his lips and John couldn’t stop the chuckle because yeah, he had no clue how they managed to do it.

“No idea. But it’s not too bad, and you’ll get used to it if you don’t mind being called ‘idiot’ for the rest of your life,” John replied, earning a grin from Moran. “The fighting, at least. You’ll never get used to the deductions. You’ll be walking by a nice old woman in the Tesco then one of them will tell you that her husband is in jail for murder and that she was once - if not active still - some sort of secret operative. Never be able to tell if they’re just messing with you or if they’re being honest.”

Moran laughed, shaking his head in disbelief, “an old woman, really?” He questioned, his smile wide.

“Yeah, and that’s if you manage to drag one of them to a Tesco. Bloody useless shoppers, they are. Unless Sherlock needs something for an ‘experiment,’ and you end up walking out with half the store in your cart and no idea where you’re going to put it all.” John laughed, and Moran laughed with him.  
Pausing mid-insult, Jim became aware of a distinct noise that certainly wasn’t meant for a very serious very competitive bout with Sherlock Holmes. Was Moran.. Laughing? Sherlock seemed to have noticed it too, for he stopped to listen and ah-there it was, but this time joined with the laughter of the good doctor. But where- turning his head in the direction of the two, he felt as if ice had been dumped over his head as he studied the two. His gaze flickered between them lightning quick, assessing, and he didn’t like what he saw.

The two had wandered a bit away from Sherlock and himself while they were distracted, and were standing way too close for comfort as Moran’s hand tugged on the sleeve of John’s jacket as he laughed along about what Moriarty could only guess. It would have to be something completely idiotic for Moran to be giggling at what looked now to be John telling a story, eyes lit up and animated as he spoke. His hands moved unknowingly as he talked, and Moran was eating every ounce of it up eagerly, a grin on his lips as he tried to suppress his laughter until the end of the story.

_Interested. Attentive and listening. Enjoyment. Social. Funny. Flirtatious?_ Surely not, and yet… They edged closer, and by the way Sherlock huffed Jim knew he’d drawn the same conclusion.

“John,” Sherlock snapped, and the man didn’t even startle as he turned to look at Sherlock with the same smile on his face, a remainder of the laughter and yet not a trace of guilt could be registered on him. But he was only half paying attention, his focus on the sandy-haired traitor beside him as an emotion he wasn’t particularly fond of flared up within his chest, heating up the icy water from before and boiling it. He was watching John and Sherlock, a small smirk on his face - _not malicious, but amused_ \- relevant to the conversation they were having, then before hazel eyes turned to him and his smile widened.

Definitely relevant then.

“Looks like Sherlock needs you more than I do, John,” Sebastian said, turning to shake hands with the man. Jim couldn’t be sure if it was him or Sherlock that bristled when their hands touched, lingering for just a second too long then, “again tomorrow?” Sebastian asked, and Jim lost it as he strode over towards the hunter.

“Oh, sure,” John agreed with an easy smile as his hand dropped. “Perhaps he’ll figure out your favorite color by then,” John joked, and Jim found it in bad taste that he couldn’t stop himself from snapping at the doctor.

“Gold, obviously,” before taking the arm of the hunter who shot him a brief surprised glance before starting to chuckle as he allowed himself to be dragged away.

“Jealous, Jim?” Sebastian taunted, wiggling his arm in his grasp and Moriarty found himself wondering how much kissing it would take to make Sebastian forget his name before simply answering.

“You’re not allowed to touch John Watson ever again.”

Near the Chemistry building, Sherlock was giving very similar instruction to a smirking Watson.


End file.
